Monday ReVeries 

..and.. 

Recollections. 






By Ja.me» H. 6kll«s. 




Mondai; *RjsVeries 

..and.. 

Recollections, 



By Jamks H. Skiles, 

Pastor of the Congregational Church, Farragut, lowi 



.^ PKINTED FOR THK WOMAN'S GUILD. 

30 



Published by the 

Author. 

Farragut, Iowa, 

1903. 



THI. LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Tvvo Cepig* RecciyMl 

MM 19 1903 

I Copyright Entry 

ffLASS (^ XXc. Na 

COPY B. 



Entered according to act of Congress, 
year 1903, by James H. Skiles, in the office 
Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



the 
the 



Index. 



Angels but folks.' Not, 


•28, 


An outing- with my boy. 


o3. 


At Cana, 


2:1. 


At Santiago, 


57. 


At the winriow. 


42, 


Baby, My, 


49. 


Beat'nst plan, The 


30, 


Bells of my childhocd, The 


44. 


Birds, A lesson from Llie, 


54. 


Boy, An outing with my. 


53. 


Brotherhood, 


35, 


By the Kiver, 


50. 


Castles of youth, 


46. 


Cathay, Our gift to old. 


31. 


Childhood, The bells of my, 


44. 


Child's appeal, A, 


2o, 


Christ came to church. When. 


17. 


Church, Our, 


15. 


Circus came to town, When the. 


55. 


Companionship, Spiritual. 


27. 


Deacon, The wise, 


•>•) 


Dedication. 


9. 


Dream, A preacher's, 


21. 


Entering the harbor, 


41. 


'Every cloud has a silver lining." 


3(3. 


Farmer, The retired, 


39. 


Giftto old Cathay, Our. 


31. 


Home, A journey. 


37. 


Houses and homes. 


37. 


Ideals, 


34. 


Ideal, The real and the, 


3(5. 


'I love each gift the seasons bring,' 


(54. 


Immortality, 


26. 


Influence, 


35. 


'In the day when thou art weary,' 


41. 


In the garden. 


43. 


Journey home. A, 


37. 


'Keep pegging away,' 


59. 


Lament, A, 


56. 


Laughter, 


5L 



Index. 



Maiden of '82, The, 


47. 


Mary and Martha, 


24. 


Ministering women. 


11. 


Monday rest. Summer, 


14. 


Monday rest. Winter, 


13. 


Monologue, The parson's, 


()1. 


My baby, 


49. 


My boy, An outing with. 


53. 


My wild-wood friends, 


m. 


]S^ot angels but folks. 


28. 


Orthodoxy of today. The. 


32. 


Our church. 


15. 


'Oiir lives, dear Lord and Master,' 


3(3. 


Outing with my boy. An, 


53- 


Parson's monologue. The. 


HI. 


Pictures of a saint. Two. 


42. 


Pleasure, The quest of. 


3". 


Prayer, 


IS. 


Preacher, A scholarly. 


11). 


Preacher's dream. A, 


21. 


Quest of pleasure. The, 


37. 


Real and the ideal. The, 


30. 


Retired farmer, The, 


,39. 


Sabbath evening reverie. A, 


Hi- 


Saint, Two pictures of a. 


42. 


Santiago, At, 


57. 


Songs of the night. 


52. 


Spiritual companionship. 


o" 


Sunshine, 


51. 


'Sunshine' again. 


(53. 


Tangle, A, 


^b. 


Two pictures of a saint. 


42. 


Vacation days, 


()4. 


When Christ came to church. 


17. 


When the circus came to town, 


55. 


Wild-wood friends, My, 


(iO. 


Wise deacon. The, 


22. 


Women, Ministering, 


11. 


Youth, The castles of. 


46. 



Dedication 

I would each poem were a pearl, dear. 
And pure beyond compare, 

That. I might bind them lovingly 
About your tresses fair. 

1 would each poem were a gem. dear, 

A jewel rich and rare. 
That I might cast them at your feet 

And tluis my love declare. 

But take the little gift I bring, dear. 
Although it be but slight: 

My words but half express my thought. 
Yet you will read aright. 



Ministering Women 

Mark !5:40-4! 

When of old the Master journeyed 

On the hihs of (lahlee, 
Or beside the coast of Jordan, 

Or beside the inland sea. 

Oft he grew both faint and weary 

Midst the apostolic band, 
For he had no houseliold comforts 

Tlie dear gift of woman's hand. 

Then a group of godly women. 

Coming out of Galilee, 
Followed him in lowly service 

Till he hung upon the tree. 

Skillful fingers wrought to please him. 
Loving hearts did sympathize. 

And his busy life knew comforts 
Only women could devise. 

Ah, their fame will live forever. 

And where'er liis name is known 

There'll be praise for those who cheered him 
When he had no crown or throne. 

As of old with tlie disciples. 

So within the church today, 

There are those wlio serve the Master 
As a woman can and may. 

Ever is her touch most gentle 

And her spirit strong and bright. 

While she helps us bear our burdens 
And in helping finds delight. 



12 



Here, today, we crown you. sisters. 

With a crown of lieartfelt praise: 

As of old you served the Master. 

So you serve in modern ways. 

Wlien tlie treasury is empty 

And the men are sorely vexed, 

Then you pray and plan and prosper 
And refuse to be perplexed. 

When your pastor needs assistance 

In the work the church should do, 

Then you heed his call for service. 
For such calls appeal to you. 

When some brother, bowed by sorrow, 
Looks on life throug-h bitter tears, 

Then to 3^ou he turns for comfort. 

For the lielp that soothes and cheers. 

Winter's cold chills not your ardor: 
You ignore the summer's heat: 

In the service of the Master 

Faith like yours knows no retreat. 

Your best deeds are oft forgotten 

And your worth is little known. 

But you'll find when life is over 

That the Lord still loves his own. 



!3 

Mondat; Rest 

Winter 



(live me a book, 
A cosy nook. 
And a "Sleepy Hollow'* chair: 
Tlien let me read 
Tliat I may speed 
To a country far and fair, 
Wliere fancy holds the mind in thrall 

With charms tliat never fail, 
While v^^e, with Cooper, once more trace 

The Red man's hidden trail; 
Or, with the Wizard of the North 

Tread some far highland vale: 
Ah, there a score of friends will come 
And each to tell some tale: 
So, free from care. 
Away I'll fare 
To rest me there. 

Still on ni speed 
The while I read 
In my "Sleepy Hollow" chair. 
Still borne along 
On wings of song 
To a country far and fair, 
Where poets of Columbia 

Their richest treasures bring; 
Where England's sweetest voice repeats 

The Idylls of the King; 
Where Scotland's bard, by all beloved. 

His choicest songs will sing: 

Where melody is full and free 

As bird songs in the spring: 

So, free from care. 

Away I'll fare 

To rest me there. 



14 

JMondat; H^est 

Summer 



• In a shady nook 
I lie and look 
At the shadows so cool and deep— 
At the shadows under the trees 
Where the indolent stimmer breeze 
Is languidly falling asleep: 

I look where a beauteous band 
Live afar from the world's unrest, 
Where, near me, in lovliness dressed, 

The dearest of wild-flowers stand: 

For the violet yonder grows, 
And the bonny blue-bell is near: 
There the buttercup blinks, and here. 

On this hill, blooms many a rose. 

In this shady nook 
I lie and look 
At the timorous wild-wood folk: 
Catch a glimpse of a thrush 
Darting out of the brush, 
While some blackbirds rest on an oak: 

Here the meadow-lark comes ofttimes 
And the quail builds her nest anear: 
Here the robin calls out, "Good cheer I" 

And the bobolink sings his rhymes: 

From the brook leaps upward the trout: 
The squirrels look down from the trees. 
While, nearer than any of these, 

The rabbits are running about. 




()\:\i iio.Miv 



15 



In this shady nook 
I lie and look 
Far up where the summer breeze, 
With a softly murmuring- sound, 
Whicli whispers and floats around, 
Is waving the tops of the trees; 

I look up to the deep blue sky 
Where each moment a vision brings 
Of some bird which, on tireless wings, 

Passes swiftly, silently by; 

I look up where a cloud, afloat— 
A beauteous cloud of white mist 
With center of dark amethyst- 
Sails by, an etheral boat. 



i^^^^i 



Our Church 

Though every place be hallowed ground. 

Where good men are expressing 
Their faith and love, yet we have found 

This church of God a blessing; 
For oft we tarry here for rest 

A¥hen we are worn and weary 
Till, free from care, we onward fare, 

Nor find the world still dreary. 

Oft here our trembling faith grows strong. 

While truth all doubt is slaying; 
Oft here our hopes burst into song— 

The blest result of praying: 
So still we'll seek within these walls 

Our God, and bow before him, 
Since it is sweet for friends to meet 

Together to adore him. 



16 

Ji Sabbath Evening ReVerie 

1891-1901. 



Within the church at close of day 

(My Sabbatli toil is ended.) 
In solitude I muse and pray, 

By memory attended. 

This sacred spot my fancy moves: 

(The silence is impressive.) 
The past, recalled, all fear reproves. 

All care that is excessive. 

A quiet hour I'll linger here, 
(The daylight is departing.) 

For well I know what will appear, 
From out the darkness starting. 

Soft voices seem to come and go: 
(The wind moans in the steeple.) 

I hear an echo, faint and low. 
As of a host of people. 

And still more clearly I discern 
(The weary world is sleeping.) 

The forms of those for whom I yearn 
Who've long been in God's keeping. 

A congregation now I see 
(Blest gift of retrospection.) 

Who, in the past, have given me 
Their trust and true affection. 

Thus while I muse on scenes long past 

I gain new inspiration 
To till the days, now fleeing fast. 

With Christlike ministration. 

The church of God is marching on: 
I'll welcome each new duty; 

And, e'er like others, I am gone 
I'll clothe my soul in beauty. 



17 

When Christ Came to Church, 



Once on a time, 

Long, long- ago. 
Sweet bells did chime 

And priests did go 
Up to their church one Sunday. 

And loud they prayed, 

And loud they sang, ' 
And then one made 

A long harangue 
Within that church on Sunday. 

Across the wold, 

A stranger lame 
And weak and old, 
At twilight came 
Into that church that Sunday. 

With lowly mien. 

He begged for bread: 
The priests, serene, 
The old man fed 
Within their church on Sunday. 

And then, at that — 

O wondrous sight! 
From where he sat. 
Celestial light 
Transformed their church that Sunday 

The priests bowed low 

In glad surprise, 
For all did know, 

Though strange the guise. 
Whom they had fed that Sunday. , 

They cried, "O Lord, 

We do entreat. 
With one accord, 

That thou wilt meet 
With us in church each Sunday. 



All legends say— 

And none protests— 

That, from that day, 
A g'lor rests 
Upon that church each Sunday. 

This story old 

To me doth say, 
"When love grows cold 

Do not delay 
To meet with Christ on Sunday 

In modern life. 

Full oft we bear 
Some marks of strife 

Or marks of care 
Into our church on Sunday. 

Thy glory, Lord, 

No longer hide: 
And this accord: 

Whate'er betide, 
Still meet with us on Sunday. 



Prayer, 



What is prayer, my brother, tell meV 
What is prayerV 

'"Tis the trustful heart's expression 

Of its hopes and fears: 
'Tis the story of transgression, 

Told with shame and tears: 
'Tis a plea for God to guide us 

All along our way. 
And for grace to still provide us 

Help from day to day." 

Is then all we seek in prayer. 

Pardon and release from careV 



>9 



"Nay. 'Tis oft the heart's outpouring- 

Of its wealth of love, 
While, by faith, the spirit, soaring-. 

Dwells with God above; 
'Tis all trouble's transmutation 

Into perfect peace; 
Tis a God ward aspiration; 

'Tis the soul's release." 



^^i$S:ir-i 



Ji Scholarly Preacher, 



(With all necessary apologies to Tennyson's Owl.) 

The men are busy in the town 

With sweat of brow and toil of brain 
They all work hard for earthly gain, 

Though some may smile and some may frown; 

But,— 

Alone and nursing his five wits 
The preacher in his study sits. 

The mothers of the selfsame town 

Are seldom free from household care: 
Though some few heavy burdens bear, 

And some deserve a martyr's crown: 

Yet,— 

Alorie and nursing his five wits 
The preacher in his study sits. 

The children of the busy town 

Oft need to hear the voice of friend 
Rebuke, encourage, or commend, 

Lest some temptation drag them down; 

Still,— 

Alone and nursing his five wits 
The preacher in his study sits. 



20 



He dwells within the busy town 

But, like a monk, he dwells apart: 
Ere from his books he must depru-t 

He hopes to win a fair renown: 

And so,— 

Alone and nursing- his tive wits 
The preacher in his study sits. 

\11 day he hides among his books. 

■ Communing with the good and great: 
From where he lives in peaceful state 
On toiling men he seldom looks: 

For.— 

Alone and nursing his five wits 
The preacher in his study sits. 

He shrinks from tales of human joy, 

Much more for tales of bitter tears; 
He cares not for the plans and fears 

Which common hands and hearts employ: 

For still,— 

Alone and nursing his tive wits 
The preacher in his study sits. 

Ah. preacher of the word of God, 

Flee not the tumult and the strife: 
The lowly walks of common life 

Thy Lord himself has often trod: 

For.— 

He never in his heaven sits, 
Alone and nursing all his wits. 



Ui> 



2t 

ji Treacher's Dream, 



A preacher sat in his study; 

He was weary and ill at ease; 
His sermon long had detained him, 

Yet he feared that it would not please. 

He knew that the people were cultured; 

Some were wiser by far than he, 
For there were teachers and lawyers 

And some others of high degree. 

He thought of standing before them 
With a message they might disdain; 

For, Oh! the truth was so wondrous, 
And his sermon so crude and plain. 

And while he sat there, thus thinking, 
On his eyes broke a vision bright; 

He saw, within it, unfolding, 
A rich glory of wondrous light. 

And still it grew and unfolded— 

That strange glory both deep and broad- 
While, to and fro, in liis vision 
Swept the sound of the praise of God. 

And loud and louder the music 
In rich harmony rose and fell. 

While bright and brighter the glory 
Wove around him its mystic spell; 

Till, from that vision supernal. 
Came the voice of the Lord to say, 

"Arise, and go as my servant; 
1 will teach thee to preach and pray." 

And, lo, the voice of the Master, 

Who abides in celestial light. 
So thrilled that preacher with rapture 
• That it put all his fears to flight. 



22 



And then the vision receded: 
It grew faint in both tint and tone: 

The dreamer woke from liis dreaming- 
In his study he sat alone. 

Yet oft he thinks of tliat vision — 
Of tliat glory both deep and broad — 

And feels he serves as have others. 
In the very presence of God. 

Today the learned all praise him. 

For he speaketh the word they need: 
The poor and lowly all love him. 

For he helpeth in every deed. 



$^5€$^^ 



The Wise Deacon. 



The gloomy wintry day was o'er 

And stormy was the night, 
But in the house across the way 

The fire glowed warm and bright. 
And there the de con sat alone 

With his beloved gramophone. 

Within the spell of that machine 

All troubles were forgotten, 
For mystic powers, as of old. 

Of music were begotten. 
The good man's brain had ceased to throb. 

His bones had ceased their aching: 
He was like one who sleeps and dreams 

And not like one who's waking. 
O, happy deacon I there alone 

With yoiu" beloved gramophone. 



i 



Z3 



The cares of life would come again 

When slowly dawned the morrow, 
For none can ever quite escape 

Life's common toil and sorrow; 
But wise is he who has the knack 

Of casting- off all care 
And speeding- far to peaceful scenes- 

His palace car a chair. 
'Twas thus the deacon sat alone 

With his beloved g-ramophone. 



^■5S€$-$ 



At Carta, 



Recall the tale 
How the wine did fail 

At Cana, at the marriag-e-feast; 
How the Lord that day, 
In his own kind way. 

The scanty store of wine increased. 

Ah, wonderous power! 

Without fruit or flower. 
The limpid water changed to wine: 

And the wine so made 

Without nature's aid 
Excelled the product of the vine. 

For what occurred? 

How reads the Word? 
"Behold!" the ruler, smiling, cried, 

''This last-drawn wine, 

I do opine, 
Is best of all thou dost provide." 



24 



- In j^outh's glad day, 

So brig-ht and gay. 
Life is a bountiful repast: 

And yet, I say, 

'Tis God's good way 
To keep the best until the last. 

Then let the years 

Bring smiles and tears, 
Bring days of peace and days of strife. 

Away with fears I 

For heaven nears 
And richer grows the wine of life! 



4^-5es^$ 



Mary and Martha. 

By the side of the Lord >tood Martha of old, 
And she brought him the best of her store: 

Thus for years she had served the dear Lord who 
deserved 
All her wealth, all her service, and more. 

At the feet of the Lord sat ;Mary of old 

And her spirit, though loving, was still, 

For some wonderful word, which he spake and she 
heard, 
Through the depths of her being did thrill. 

Very dear to the Lord was the gift of the hands 

But yet dearer the gift of the heart 
And, though Martha served well, yet did Mary excel, 

For He said that she chose ''the good part." 



25 

Ji Child's Appeal 



My little lad, you seem perplexed: 
Your merry heart, I fear, is vexed; 
Shall I not help you with your taskV 
With sparl<:ling eyes he turned to ask, 
"O, will you be my 'friend-mate'?' " 

Your "friend-mate," dear? Indeed I will: 
For you I'll use my utmost skill: 
And yet the task's not hard to do 
Exeept for little lads, like you: 

And I will be your friend-mate. 

Dear Lord, before thy face I bow, 
A child, and oft perplexed; but Thou 
Are not confused by human strife, 
Nor wearied by the cares of life: 

Wilt Thou not be my friend-mate? 

The task, so great, so hard, for me. 
Is neither hard nor great for thee: 
O elder brother, more than man, 
I'll do my task— I only can— 

If Thou wilt be my friend-mate. 

"Peace, peace," saith Christ, "Whyshoulds't 

thou fear? 
I've called thee friend, and I am near." 
Life's pathway shines before me bright; 
I'll serve my God and do the right 

Since Christ is e'er my friend-mate. 






26 

Imtnortaiity. 



"That solemn hour in which, for tliose who have gone be 
fore and for us who are to follow, the eye of sense behoUls 
naught save the ending of the world, the enterance upon a 
black and silent eternity, the eye of faith declares to be the 
supreme moment of a new birth for the disenthralled soul, 
the introduction to a new era of life compared with which 
the present one is not worthy of the name." 

John Fisk in "Life Everlasting." 



Since death is but a second birth. 
From immortality on eartli 

The Lord dehvered us. 
Tliougli age is near and youth is far, 
We murmer not, for now we are 

Content to have it tlius. 

We greet tlie years as tliey fiy fast 
To mingle with the mighty past — 

We greet them with a smile. 
Our years are few and soon we'll be 
Rejoicing in eternity. 

So we can wait awhile. 

Amid our earthly toil and care, 
Some heavy burdens we must bear 

We cannot understand; 
But, as we slowly onward plod. 
We rest upon the arm of God, 

Who's always near at hand. 

In dreams, a feast their hopes provide 
For travelers o'er deserts wide 

Beneath the starry dome; 
And so our faith now makes us rich 
While, night by night, our tents we pitch 

A day's march nearer home. 



'n 



We know our God and will not fear 
Though one hy one should disappear 

The friends who make life sweet: 
To greet them not, 'tis sadly strange— 
But, in that land where comes no change. 

We all, once more, will meet. 

Spiritual Companionship. 



Alone we seem to walk through life, 
Yet are the angels near us; 

And, in the hour of pain or strife, 
All lovingly they cheer us. 

If day or night we are afraid. 
We know they are beside us: 

For they are sent to lend us aid 
Whatever may betide us. 

Amid the world's confusing din 

They silently direct us: 
And when we falter, fighting sin, 

They mightily protect us. 

They come unseen our steps to guide. 
E'en from our life's beginning; 

From day to day they still abide 
To save us all from sinning. 

From year to year they persevere 

In seeking our salvation. 
Till we, by grace, before God's face, 

Become a new creation. 

Shall angels thus abide with us 

From evil to preserve us, 
While friends from earth of human birth 

Forbidden are to serve us? 



y,8 



They are not seen and yet, 1 ween. 

No power iTOiri tliem can cleave us: 
With weh-known skUl, from some sore ill, 

O oft they do relieve us. 

We cannot hear their words of cheer 
Yet well we know their message. 

For oft we feel an impulse steal 
Upon us. like a presage. 

They are not dead! They have not fled! 

They tarry to uphold us: 
With thoughtful eyes and whispers wise 

Their arms in love enfold us! 

"Not Angels, "But Folks." 



We are told that when "Father Taylor,'" the celebrated 
sailor missionary, of Boston, lay dying a friend reminded 
him that angels were present and that he soon would see 
them. The dying man aroused himself and replied, "I don't 
want angels, I want folks!'' 

John Fiske, in "Life Everlasting," says, "We are all agreed 
that life beyond the gi-ave would be a delusion and a cruel 
mockery without the continuance of the tender household 
affections which alone make the present life worth living." 



You tell me when 1 come to die the angels will draw 

near 
To bear my spirit home to God, and thus you seek to 

cheer; 
You tell me they are bright and fair, and mighty to 

protect 
Through changes strange and journeys far, the souls 

of God's elect; 
You tell me they are waiting near to bear my spirit 

home 



29 



To that far land of life which lies beyond the starry 
dome; 

You tell me that forever there with angels I'll 
abide. 

And never more will sorrow come nor any death be- 
tide; 

But, oh! my spirit longs to know, as nears the part- 
ing hour, 

If death will break the bonds of earth and rob our 
love of power. 

The mystic stream is wrapped in mist; I cannot see 
across; 

If there my friends are mine no more, how can I 
bear the lossV 

So tell me not of angels fair in this my hour of fear, 

Although they've come at God's command and now 
are waiting near; 

But tell me of the friends I love; all other speech 
forbear; 

Oh tell me of the friends 1 love I Will they not meet 
me there 

Within that land where death comes not and part- 
ings are no moreV 

Shall we together live for aye upon the further 
shore? 

Shall we together praise and serve the God whom 
here we love? 

He gave us to each other here— will he do so above? 

I soon must speak my last farewell— is it forever- 
more? 

Or shall we meet and greet again upon that further 
shore? 

Sad spirit, bid your fears depart nor fear to trust 
your God: 

Recall how Jesus loved his friends while here on earth 
he trod. 

He loved His friends as you love y^ours; He loved them 
to the end; 

He understands your cry of fear; you shall not lose 
one friend. 



30 



For He created hiinum love which binds us heart to 

heart 
And, though He may let sorrow come, will ne'er i<;eep 

us apart. 
True love is an immortal thing, it will not, can not 

die; 
So rest in peace and trust your God: all will be w^ell 

on high. 

''The Beatnst Plan/' 



A few years ago, a plan popularly known as the "Beaton'" 
plan for the relief of our home missionary treasury, was 
widely discussed. This plan proposed that each small coun- 
try church should purchase a few acres of land, adjoining 
the parsonage, for the use of its pastor. It was argued that 
by cultivating this land he could lessen his expenses and in- 
crease his income and thus bring the greatly longed-for re- 
lief to the home missionary treasury. 



This plan will beat the preacher. 
Whatever he may do; 

'Twill beat him in the pulpit 
And in the market too. 

'Twill beat him in the study; 

'Twill beat him in thefleld; 
For neither brains nor acres 

Will give a lialf a yield. 

The corn will beat the sermon, 
The sermon beat the corn. 

And both will beat the preacher 
The preacher all forlorn. 

But "how can man die better 
Than facing fearful odds." 

As lowly farmer-preacher, 
Apostle of the clods? 



Ah, yes, 'twill beat the preacher— 
Those acres half a score— 

And all for want of money 

From wealth's abounding store. 

O, men with gold and silver, 

Your brother needs your aid. 
It is a waste of manhood 
To change the pen for spade; 

It is a waste of manhood 
To hoard today your gold, 

When fields are white to harvest 
And victories foretold. 

God gives to each his talents; 

To every man his work: 
The preacher will not falter; 

Beware you do not shirk. 

Our Gift to Old Cathay. 



The last farewells were spoken 
And then they sailed away 

Far out upon the ocean 

Toward the shores of old Cathay. 

O bright the sun above them. 

And bright the sparkling spray, 

For, after years of study. 

They'd soon be in Cathay. 

Some found the ocean voyage 

A dreary, weary way; 
They smiled and said to others, 

"How near seems old Cathay." 



32 



Full soon their journey ended 
And there, one gladsome day. 

Began, with hearts o'erflowlng. 
Their work for old Cathay. 

The years brought toil and burdens- 
And happier still grew they, 

For 3^ears of service deepened 
Their love for old Cathay. 

But now our heai'ts are heavy 

For there one dark, dark day. 
They fell before the heathen — 

Our gift to old Cathay. 

Ah, sorely, sorely, miss we 
The two who sailed away: 

So gladly, blithely, left us 

For tlie sake of old Cathay. 

The Orthodoxy of Todat;, 



Some theologians of the past — 

Or so we read in history — 
Such hosts of proof-texts had amassed. 

They bowed before no mystery. 

Some dogmas of the early days 

Were far beyond all reason. 
While serving God in untried ways 

Was little less than treason. 

Some mighty conflicts once were fought — 

By men of high ambition— 
To prove by whom God 'sword was taught 

According to tradition. 



33 



Once men accepted as the truth 
Whate'er old age did hahow, 

For foUy stih abode with youth 

And ah new views were shallow. 

By its decrees and creeds, the church 
Ail fields of truth had covered; 

Then who but fools would fondly search 
For what liad been discovered? 

Once Godly men were oft contemned 
For liopes we all now cherish, 

Vv^hile heretics were oft condemned 
For strange beliefs to perish. 

Once all men found witiiin their creeds 

Their making or undoing, 
While courts recked not of Christlike deeds 

Or mercy's gentle wooing. 

Today we humbly own that truth 
Is often clothed in mystery, 

And comes at times in garb uncouth— 
Or so we read in history. 

No scorn have we for those who doubt: 

No hate for men mistaken; 
If but their spirit be devout, 

And evil ways forsaken. 

We still believe that since God spake 
Through men whom be inspired, 

The "way of life" none can mistake 
If that's what is desired. 

In modern phrase, some write their creeds, 
And some express theirs quaintly: 

In either case we ask for deeds 
To prove that men are saintly. 



34 



For theologians are but men 

And oft have been mistaken; 

So heretics we call them when 
The Godly life's forsaken. 

The orthodoxy of the heart, 

With richest blessings pregnant, 

In church, and home, and busy world 
Today is plainly regnant. 



1 



Ideals. 



His greatest vision no man can paint. 

For, while hands grow weak and spirit faint, 

His conceptions mock his skill; 
Though long he work and with keen desire, 
Though fame may beckon and love inspire, 

Yet his dream eludes him still. 

His grandest sermon no man can preach, 
For it's far beyond the power of speech 

To interpret mind and heart; 
Since words are weak and the tongue is slow, 
Of both his thought and his spirit's glow 

But a hint can he impart. 

His sweetest carol no man can sing. 
Though he pray for skill to make it spring 

Like a lark upon the air; 
As a bird that fears it may be caught, 
It hides in the thickets of his thought 

Where he hears its voice so rare. 

A true man strives but he often fails. 
And, though neither toil nor prayer avails 

To attain his heart's desire, 
Yet will he not, though he may bow low. 
His highest, holiest, hope forego 

While his heart bids him aspire. 



35 

Influence, 



A pebble 1 give to the ocean wide; 

As it sinks from my sight, 

How I wish that I might 
Now journey afar witli its wavelets as they 
To the coasts of all countries go circling away. 

1 speak a kind word to a friendless man; 

Ah, the gift is but small, — 

"But a breath," is that allV 
No word can be lost in the gulf of the past; 
The results it achieves will forevermore last. 

1 utter a prayer for a child in pain; 

Soon the prayer dies away,— 

"But a wish," shall I sayV 
No prayer can be lost mid earth's turmoil and 

strife, 
For all prayer is endowed with perennial life. 

My service I give to the world today; 

Though the gift may be small. 

Yet I gladly give all. 
For that which we fully and freely now give 
Tn the hearts of our fellows forever will live. 

'Brotherhood. 



I sit in a quiet corner 
And watch the crowd go by 
With a whirl and a rush, 
With a push and a crush; 
And would 1 be in it? 
Not I! 



36 



And still from 1113^ quiet corner 

I watch the crowd go by 
With a cry and a groan, 
With a wail and a moan: 

And who brings it comfort? 
Shall IV 

No more from a quiet corner 
I'll watch the crowd go by. 
For I'm off in the rush, 
In the midst of the crush. 
To live for my brothers: 
Good bye. 

The B^eal and the Ideal. 

Ask me not to pause or wander, 

Ye who love the real. 
While up to the hill top yonder, 

Beckons my ideal: 

For I seek— will you receive it? 

As you do, the real: 
Though, by faith, I now perceive it 

As my fair ideal. 

Oiu' lives, dear Lord and Master, 
Thine evermore shall be: 

To work, or fight, or suffer. 
As seemeth good to thee. 



Every cloud has a silver lining. { 

If w^e could only see it: | 

Every life has a high ideal, 1 

If we would only be it. f 









OUR CHURCH. 



37 

Houses and Homes. 



The walls of a house may be builded of wood, 
Its foundation of brick or of stone: 

But a genuine home is an exquisite thing-, 
For it's builded of heart-throbs alone. 

The price of a house may be reckoned at once, 
And be paid with a handful of gold; 

But the price of a home very few can compute, 
And that price they have never yet told. 

The rooms of a house may be stately and grand. 
Their adornment a triumph of art; 

But all beauty of home is the final result 
Of the toil of an unselfish heart. 

A house may be burned, may be sold or exchanged, 
IS'or the loss with one's peace interfere; 

But the loss of a home— how it crushes the heart! 
For our homes we all love and revere. 

Of houses, a man may possess many scores. 

Yet his poverty lead to dispair; 
While an honorable man, in a home of his own, 

Must be counted a true millionaire. 



A Journet; Home, 

or 

The Huest of Pleasure. 



For years I had searched for pleasure 
And had never ceased to roam, 

But my heart at length convinced me 
That my quest should lead me home. 



38 



So, one clear cold day in winter, 

To strange scenes I bade good-bye 

And sought the home of my childhood 
Which lay 'neath a southern sky. 

Full many a day I journeyed 

O'er fields deep-covered with snow 

And o'er the plains where the cactus 
And the lowly sage-bush grow, 

Till I came upon a valley 

Where all was forlorn and dead, 
Tho' far in the west lay cities 

Built of purple, gold and red. 

While far to the south were highlands 
With peaks of mountainous height, 

Whose crests, snow-capped by the winter. 
Were resplendent in the light. 

And still, as I journeyed southward 

Across that valley forlorn. 
In the sky was rarest beauty 

Though the earth had scarce a thorn. 

And when in the west the glory 
Grew dim in the ev'ning sky 

Like a thousand thousand candles 
All the stars came out on high. 

Said one, "We hSve crossed the valley 
And the hills are near at hand," 

Then I thought, "Not far beyond them 
Breaks the waves upon the strand; 

And there, where the ocean's murmur 
Is an anthem sweet and low, 

'Mid a sea of orange-blossoms, 

Stands the home I long for so." 



39 



The earth grew darker about me, 
The stars shone brighter above, 

And I fell asleep, while thinking, 
And dreamed of the home I love. 

When they called me in the morning 
We had crossed the mountains o'er. 

And the freshness of the springtime 
Was the garb the whole earth wore. 

O sweet was the air with fragrance, 

For flowers were everywhere: 
My heart was light as the heart of 

A child, for my home was there. 

Ah, blessed was that home-coming 

At the dawning of the day, 
And sweet was my true love's greeting, 

"You have now come home to stay." 

Then my heart was filled with pleasure. 

Though my lips, through joy, were dumb; 

For, there, in the early morning, 
T he end of my quest had come. 



The JK.etired Farmer. 



An old man sat in his easy-chair; 
And happy was he 
As happy could be, 

For his heart was light 
And his spirit bright. 
And he did not have a care. 

At peace he sat in his easy-chair; 
While near at his side, 
The crown of his pride. 



40 



Sat the woman who, 
All his long life through, 
Had e'er helped him to do and dare. 

"My son, "quoth he,"here, beneath the trees, 
I've oft told 3^ou how, 
By sweat of your brow, 

You must till the soil 
Till, by patient toil, 
You have earned your hour of ease." 

"But, son, "quoth he, "e'er the daylight flees, 
Seek wealth that endures 
And hope that matures 

When the daylight fails, 
And no help avails 
To prolong your hour of ease.'" 

And still he sat in the cool fresh air, 
Till, sinking low, 
The sun did throw 

On the western sky 
Its daily good-bye: — 
Then he slept in his easy-chair. 

And there he sleeps underneath the trees. 
E'er night had begun 
His day's work was done. 
O, his faults were few, 
And his heart beat true, 
For a nobler manhood one seldom sees. 

And oft I think of him sitting there 
And greeting the night 
With spirit so bright. 

When he fell asleep, 
In repose so deep, 
I scarcely could weep- 
When he died within that chair. 



41 

Entering The Harbor. 



O deep is the blue of tlie evening sliv 
Where a liglit fleecy cloud floateth slowly by. 
And the world is as still in this hour of rest 
As a babe fast asleep on its mother's breast, 
For the wind went down with the sun. 

At dawn came a tempest from out the east, 
And its force and its fury each liour increased; 
But the tempest passed by and the world had rest 
When the sun sank from sight in the glowing west, 
For the wind went down with the sun. 

Tonight I am watching beside a friend 
While the day of his life draweth near its end. 
For long years he was driven and tempest-tossed 
Like a ship in a gale which is almost lost — 
But the wind went down with the sun. 

Tonight, for my friend, there is peace at last, 
For his moments are numbered and flying fast. 
In the harbor the waves sing about each prow, 
And he's just at the mouth of the harbor now 
When the wind goes down with the sun. 

In the day when thou art weary, 

Burdened with life's toil and care; 

When thy path is lone and dreary. 
And no sunshine shineth there; 
Then to Jesus turn and pray 
And he'll cheer thee on thy way. 



42 

Two Pictures of a Saint. 



At tKe Wirvdow. ■ 

J 

Our grandma was knitting— ! 

Sitting and knitting— \ 

When tlie spirit of dreaming came o'er her, ' 

And tlie scenes of lier youth came before her. ' j 

Now are idle her fingers, ] 

While with pleasure she lingers \ 

Amid scenes of a far distant day, , 

And with friends who are far, far away. j 

Today it is snowing— j 

Blowing and snowing— | 

And the short wintry day is so dreary, : 

And the world of the cold is so weary, i 

That I long for the coming \ 

Of the days of the humming ; 

Of the bees, and the scent of the rose, i 

And the calm summer evening's repose. ] 

But grandma is dreaming— ! 

Seeming, while dreaming. 

To be far from this wintry day's storming; ' 
While the pictures her fancy is forming. 

By each welcome presentment, ' 

Bring an added contentment j 

To the heart which still bears its full share J 

Of life's wearisome labor and care. | 

All day she's been knitting— I 

Sitting and knitting— \ 

And the smile and the words which endear lier | 
To her children and all who come near her, 

Have allayed all repining; 

While her spirit, entwining 
Round our hearts with a loving constraint, 
Has revealed her once more as our saint. 



1 '"" 


/ 


1' -s. 


9 


f > 


\ 


i / 


\ 



I 



43 

In TKe Ga^rderv. 



Beside an odd, old-fashioned garden, 
Lives a friend wliom I call a saint: 

Although, like the flowers you see there, 
S:i3 miy seem very queer and quaint. 

But there is peace within that gaiden, 
With its pinks and its marigolds, 

For, hark! how the birds are all singing, 
And not even the blue- jay scolds. 

Sometimes we walk that path together— 

That path by the tall hollyhocks- 
Till my lieart is as free from worry 
As that lily the breeze now rocks. 

Ah, how I love that odd old garden. 
And that peaceful, trustful, old saint, 

Who so often talks of (xOd's goodness 
And yet never makes a complaint. 

Her tranquil faith in God is constant 
As the stars which shine up above; 

And, after a talk in her garden. 
Then I too can rest in his love. 

I know her flowers are old-fashioned 
And her manners queer and quaint: 

But I'm glad that when cares annoy me 
I can walk and talk with a saint. 



^^9«^tfr 



44 

The "Bells of My Childhood. 



The bells of my childhood,— 

I hear them still ringing 
When memory wakens 

And backward is winging 
Its flight to the days 
Where the summer delays: 
Once more, while I mxiise, 

Half-awake, and yet dreaming, 
The scenes of the past 

Before me come streaming. 
O memory's sweet bells! O childhood's sweet bellsl 
Ye come like an angel who trouble dispels. 



The bell on the school house,— 

I hear it now ringing, 
While youth o'er the landscape 
A glory is flinging, 

And fancy runs fast 
Far into the past: 
O loudly tonight. 

With hearts that are swelling. 
We hark to the tales 

Its clamor is telling. 
O memory's sweet bells! O childhood's sweet bells! 
How loudly tonight your melody swells! 



A harsh bell is clanging 

And breaks on my dreaming: 
Its clamor and banging, 

Though only in seeming. 
Recalls a great fire. 
Rising higher and higher: 
Once more I'm a boy. 

And, dignity spurning. 



45 



I rush to the place 

Where buildings are burning. 
O memory's sweet bells! O childhood's sweet bells! 
The tumult of life your echo now quells, 



The sleigh-bells of winter,— 

I hear their gay jingling. 

While fair cheeks are glowing 

And fingers are tingling: 

But, though the winds blow. 
We rejoice in the snow: 
Tonight each bright eye 
Is merrily shining. 
While hope round each heart 
Is lovingly twining. 
O memory's sweet bells! O childhood's sweet bells! 
All fear from my heart your jingling expels. 



The bells of the steeples,— 

Once more they are swinging 
And over the valley 

Their melody, ringing. 

Recalls the dear ways 
Of the old Sabbath days: 
How sweetly each bell. 

From out its own steeple. 
Re-echoes God's grace 

And love for his people. 
O memory's sweet bells! O childhood's sweet bells! 
What stories of joy your harmony tells! 



The bell in one steeple 

Is now slowly tolling. 
And over the valley 

The sad tidings rolling 

Of hearts bowing low 
With a burden of woe: 



46 

Look up, stricken ones, 

And cease from your weeping: 
Christ rose from the dead, 

And we're in his keeping. 
O memory's sweet bells! O childhood's sweet bells! 
Release from all troubles your music foretells. 

The Castles of Youth. 



Oft I've seen in my travels 
Many buildings uncouth, 

But today I've been thinking 
Of the castles of youth. 

In the sky I've seen cities— 
Which no longer exist— 

Which were built at the dawning 
Out of sunshine and mist. 

So the glow of life's morning 
O'er the world the light flings 

And, behold, a gi"eat castle 
From the earth quickly springs. 

But it fades from the vision 
E'er the day is far spent, 

And we turn to our dwellings 
In prosaic content. 

Ah, our hopes were once glowing 
And our future was bright 

When we dwelt in those castles 
With their beauty bedight. 

Where our feasts were so dainty 
And our pleasures so rare 

And each loving companion 
Was so witty and fair. 



47 



That the moments flew past us 
Like a bird in swift flight 

Till our castles all perished 
Like a dream of the night. 

Added years bring new lessons 
From the world's treasured lore, 

But the loss of youth's castles 
We will always deplore. 

And tonight I've been longing 
For my lost youth again 

That my fancy might lead me, 
As it often did then, 

Far away from all burdens — 
To a dreamland, forsooth — 

Where I'd rest and refresh me 
In the castles of youth. 



The Maiden of '82. 



She's only a little maiden 

Of the class of '82, 
But dainty and sweet, and graceful and neat, 

To the tip of her tiny shoe. 

This morning I failed in each lesson 

But what, oh, what, can I do? 
Whatever I read, I can only heed 

That maiden of '82. 

The teacher may scowl and continually growl, 

But I see no help. Do you? 
Unless they remove, which I could not approve. 

That maiden of '82. 



48 



Some day I'll propose for she's sweet as a rose, 

And her heart, I'm sure, is true; 
And white as the snow is the soul, I know, 

Of that maiden of '82. 

Her eyes are bright as the stars of night, 
And they're deep as its deepest blue; 

They twinkle with fun, and then I'm undone 
By that maiden of '82. 

Her eyes elude every glance that's rude, 
But I've found them loving and true; 
As bright as a dream, their depth is extreme. 
Their beauty supreme, wlien love is our theme- 
Dear maiden of '82. 

L'cnvoy. 
('20 Years Later.) 

And now for life she is my wife, 
For she let me win as well as woo; 

And I still admire my boyhood's desire, 
The maiden of '82. 




MY BABY 



49 

My Baby. 



In his love so deep and tender 

God makes good things to abound, 

But a sweeter little blessing 

Than my baby I've not found. 

When we're gathered round the hearth-stone 
And the lamp is burning bright, 

Then to have a romp with papa 
Fills him with supreme delight. 

Tliere's a magic in his manners 

Makes my old heart young and gay, 

While he chatters like a magpie 
In a most enchanting way. 

When his bed time hour approaches 
And his eyes are heavy grown, 

He will whisper, "Now some 'tories," 
In a low and sleepy tone. 

Then within my arms he'd cuddle 
In contentment most profound. 

And a sweeter little blessing 

Then my baby I've not found. 

When I hear sharp voices striving, 
In the mart and on the street, 

How I wish all men had voices 
Like my baby's low and sweet. 

O, the jar and fret of commerce! 

O, the noises, loud and shrill! 
What relief comes in the twilight 

When you all are hushed and still! 



50 



Then this world's once more an Eden, 
And my home its brightest spot 

When I hear my baby talking- 
Rarer music earth knows not. 

Yes, I've known many pleasures, 
And today they still abound; 

But a sweeter little blessing 

Than my baby I've not found. 

'By the RWer. 



We sat beside the river 

One peaceful summer day, 
And casting leaves on the water 

We watched them float away. 

The current, onward flowing, 
Soon swept them out of sight; 

We smiled, and said, "What an emblem 
Of time's unceasing flight!" 

But our hearts were light and throbbing 
With love and hope and youth: 

And, though we talked of the emblem, 
We did not feel its truth. 

So hand in hand we sat there 

That peaceful summer day, 
Nor knew that our happiest moments 

Were slipping fast away. 



Today I sit here gazing 
Upon some floating leaves 

While sorrow, round and about me. 
Its spell of fancy weaves. 



51 



The emblem — leaves and river- 
Too well I long- have known; 

For oft I muse by the waters 
In silence and — alone. 



Laughter. 



J laughed with the woman today 
To whom I have given my love: 
And, behold! below and above, 
The heavens grew light, 
And the earth grew bright, 
E'er the sound of our mirth died away, 
When I laughed with the woman today 
To whom I have given my love. 

I laughed at the woman today 
To whom I had given my love; 
But, alas! as swift as a dove. 
Which flies in great fear 
When it sees danger near, 
So my love, at the sound, fled away 
When I laughed at the woman today 
To whom I had given my love. 

Sunshine. 



I see from out my window, 
A dozen times a day, 

A merry little maiden 

Beneath the trees at play. 

Her hair is like the sunshine— 
So yellow and so bright — 

It glows within the shadows, 
And glistens in the light. 



52 



Her eyes are full of laughter, 

Her lips are rosy red, 
And in each childish motion 

Sweet grace and beauty wed. 

Her sister calls her "Dolly;" 

Her mother, "Daughter mine;" 

While I, her father, whisper, 

"God bless my sweet 'Sunshine!' " 

Songs of the Night. 



In the gloom of the long sleepless night, 

When the light 
Of the stars is enwrapped in a shroud 
Of black cloud. 
Then I say to my heart, 

"Do not start 
In affright; do not fear; 
God is here." 

In the night when by sorrow oppressed 

And distressed, 
Oft I sing some sweet song of the night. 
Though no light 
In the heavens doth glow, 

For I know 
That the Lord doth abide 
At mv side. 



4 





MY BOY. 



53 

An Outing With My'Bot;. 



When work becomes a burden 
Anfl little things annoy, 

There's notliing quite so restful 
As an outing- witli my boy. 

We leave the world behind us 

And wander far away 
From all that would remind us 

Of anything but play; 

We talk of birds and tishes, 
Of flowers and of trees; 

We go where fancy wishes 
As free as any breeze; 

We seek tlie flowing river, 
For all boys like to wade; 

We watch the sunbeams quiver 
In nooks of light and shade; 

We hear the squirrels chatter 

Away up in the trees, 
While birds about us scatter 

Their chirps and songs of ease; 

But when the sun is sinking 

We cease at length to roam, 
For then we both are thinking 
There's no place quite like home. 

Yet when again come burdens 
And little things annoy, 

I'm sure to find refreshment 
In an outing with my boy. 



54 

Ji Lesson From The Birds. 



The birds which fly up in the sky 

And many miles away i 

Where'er they roam yet find a home "| 

When fades the light of day. j 

When once again, for birds and men, : 

The darksome night is done ; 

With gay dispute and glad salute 

They greet the morning sun. j 

In shady lane, or sunny plain, 

They are a merry throng j 

Who, free from care, still fill the air i 

With music all day long. 

Whene'er I see, up in a tree, j 

These merry little birds, 4 

Awakens thought, too deep, I wot, ] 

For shallow, idle words, ] 

And then I sigh, I scarce know why, j 

For something I know not, ^ 

For joy more sweet than 1 can meet \ 

In all that men have taught. j 

If man would learn and could discern 

The lesson nature teaches, ■ 

All highest bliss he could not miss : 

For not a bird but preaches. 

But foolish man, do all they can, j 

The birds cannot make wise i 

Nor make him see this world may be j 

A heaven of smaller size. \ 



55 

When the Circus Came to ToWn, 



Said neighbor Smith to neighbor Brown, 

"I'd ruthr like to know 
Ef all the people in the town 

Air goin' to the show. " 

"Said Deacon B, says he to me, 
'The children begged me so 

Jest onct to take them there to see— 
I'm goin to the show.' " 

"Said Mrs. C, 'I do not care 

Fur circuses, but, oh. 
To see the beasts! I do di^clare 

I'm going to the show.' " 

"Said Elder E, says he to me, 

'I, too, must surely go. 
To watch my strayin' flock, you see, 

I'm goin' to the show.' '' 

The children said," With all respect, 
We'd like to have you know 

To circuses we don't object; 
We like to see a show." 

Ji Tangle. 



My young neighbor has a sister 
And she lieard that I had kissed her 

In the gloaming. 
"By the stars that shine above her, 
Will your fancies, now you love her, 

Cease their roaming?" 



56 



Then I rose and swore by heaven— 
By the first and by all seven— 

I adored her; 
And to help me win her sister- 
Here I stooped and gently kissed her- 

I implored her. 

Then my thoughts began a wrangle, 
Weaving heartstrings in a tangle 

Round each sister, 
For I loved them both so dearly! 
Ah, I saw it all too clearly 

When I kissed her. 



A Lament, 



Ah, listen, friends, my tale is sad 

My troubles your's surpass 
For now, I see, to the end I'h be 

The baby of the class. 

In vain I strive to speak and move 

As does no little lass. 
Then comes the sting— the cruel fling— 

"Dear baby of the class." 

One day I was as dignified 

As priests should be at mass 

And then, in glee, they cried, "O see 
The baby of the class!" 

What though my teachers smile and say, 
•'My dear, you always pass"? 

Whate'er the gains the fact remains— 
The baby of the class. 



57 



They pat my head and cah me '"bright," 

"A prodigy'' Alas! 

As well be dead as hear it said,— 

"The baby of the class " 

Ah, well I know, my days of youth 

In joy would quickly pass 
If I were not — O piteous lot! 

The baby of the class. 

Our school boasts many a likely lad 

And each one has his lass 
But all, you see, jnst ignore me, 

The baby of the class. 

Today, forget, for once forget 
The baby of the class, 

And grant my plea that I may be- 
Just a common school girl! 

At Santiago. 



We long had chased the vessels 

Of the haughty Spaniard's fleet, 
For they did not dare to tight us 
And they beat us in retreat. 

We built our ships for battle; 

We were eager for the fray; 
But like phantom ships they vanished: 

They were built to run away. 

At length within the harbor — 
In behind Soroco's guns- 
Rushed, in utter consternation, 
All their ships of many tons. 



58 



We waited on the ocean, 

And they skulked within the bay; \ 

We had come, you see, to meet them . | 

And were sorry for delay. j 

We kept our guns in order 

And our fires burning- bright, 
And we watched throughout the daytime 

And we watched throughout the night . 

We talked of Cuba's martyrs 

And our friends upon the Maine, 
And we vowed that we'd avenge them 

On the sailor boys of Spain. 

We heard, across the waters. 

Faint and far, the Cuban's cry 
In the restless ocean's murmur 

And the night-wind's moan and sigh. 

1 
What if the war were ended— 

And this our only fear — 
E'er the foe we long had sought for 

Could be tempted to appear? 

This morning came the battle- 
No! their flight and our pursuit — 

When the guns all spoke in thunder. 
Clear and loud and resolute. 

The flash and roar of battle! 

Oh, it was an awful sight 
When the ships of Spain all perished 

In the midst of headlong flight! 

Tonight the staunchest vessels 

Of the haughty Spaniard's fleet, 
On the coast, lie dead and silent. 

With a fog for winding sheet. 



59 



Those wrecks along the coast line 
Are all black and still and grim, 

And the cup old Spain is drinking- 
Has been tilled up to the brim! 

The Lord who rules the nations 
Holds that cup for her today; 

It is he who bids her drink it 
To her terror and disinay. 

'Keep Pegging ylWay/' 



Sometimes when tlie thought oi the 
work still before us 

Is a spectre by night ami a burden by 
day 

The words of "Old Abe" would quite 
quickly restore us 

If we'd honestly Jieed his, "Keep peg- 
ging away." 

Tlie care of a day — we will surely live 

through it 
If we'll trust in the right, as we 

ought, as we may; 
The task of a day — we can easily do 

it 
If we'll work with a will and keep 

pegging away. 

The tasks of a lifetime— each think- 
ing man knows it- 
Will not all come upon us in any one 

day; 
The cares of a lifetime the past 

clearly shows it — 
We'll endure if we'll only keep peg- 
ging away. 



60 

My Wild-Wood Friends. 



I'm oft in a world of marvels 
Since I've taught mine eyes to see, 

And oft I hear in the wild-wood 
Tales as strange as strange can be. 

O I love, alone, to wander 
And with eyes and ears to pry 

Deep down into the mysteries 
To be found beneath the sky. 

Each flower and bird and squirrel 
Has hopes and fears as have we 

And each, for the love I bear him 
Has told all his tale to me. 

The flowers talk of the sunshine, 
The dew, the breeze, and the storm 

And then show for my inspection 
Some rich color or rare form. 

The birds are garrulous neighbors 
Oft singing an hour through 

Of nests, of fruits, and of berries, 
And of what a bird can do. 

The squirrels are fond of chatting 
Of nuts, of trees, and of seeds 

And of how 'tis well in autumn 
To provide for winter's needs. 

And then one dear little fellow— 
And no doubt he thinks he's wise — 

Will hold up a nut and crack it 
To secure the hidden prize. 



Tlie birds oft g-ive me a lesson — 
Tlie little venturesome things— 

Of how the earth can not hold one 
Who's blessed with a pair of wings. 

The flowers, arrayed in buauty. 

But without a hint of pride. 
Still tell, as of old, the lowly 

To trust the Lord to provide. 

Ah, yes, 'tis a world of marvels 
For those wh'« can see and hear, 

And the sights and sounds of nature 
Are lessons of trust and cheer. 

The companionship she brings us 
Has a charm that never ends. 

If we'll meet our wild-wood neighbors 
As a true man meets his friends. 

The Parson's Monologue. 



Dear wife, my heart is full tonight 
Of g-ratitude and praise: 

'•The Lord is good to all mankind. 
And wondrous are his ways." 

I did not thinli our people cared 
Flow hard we toiled and prayed; 

The years were flying fast, dear wife, 
Ah, me— T was afraid, — 

Afraid to work and wait and trust 
The God we long had served. 

The many blessings of this day 
Are more than I deserved. 



62 



'Twas surely for your sake, true wife- 
No, let me have my say- 
When doubts increased and fears oppressed, 
You taught me how to pray. 

Today your faith is proven true— 

O wondrous is God's grace 1 
"Behind a frowning providence 

He hides a smiling face." 

Yes, sing that good old hymn tonight 
With voice, serene and strong. 

The Lord is good, is kind and good, 
And I have done him wrong. 

How I've misjudged our people too. 

Misunderstood their way: 
But should I live to three-score ten 

I'll not forget this day. 

Now John can go to college, wife— 

praise the Lord for tliat! 
He'll walk the old familiar halls 

And sit where I once sat: 

He'll hear the old melodious bell 
Which marks the passing hours; 

He'll dream his dream, and poverty 
Will not restrict his powers. 

And you, dear wife, look young tonight, 

As in your girlhood days. 
When I rejoiced in your strong faith 

And all your helpful ways. 

I bless the Lord for friends tonight— 

1 know I'm thankful too— 

But most of all,— yes, come, dear one,— 
I bless the Lord for you. 



63 

**Sunshine" jigain, 



Dorothy singeth, 
Dorothy swingeth, 
'Neath my window this calm siiiiimer day 
And the gay 
Roundelay 
Which she singeth, 
While she swingeth, 
Is so full of the gladness of youth. 
The joy of life's morning, forsooth. 
That it tilleth my heart with delight 
And putteth forebodings to flight. 

Still she singeth, 

Still she swingeth. 
And 1 say, with a smile, "Little miss, 
Tell me this, 
Do you mivSs, 

In your playing, 

Tlie delaying 
Of the joys other seasons will bring— 
The winter, the autumn, the spring? 
Do you dwell with regret on past sorrow, 
Or fear the heartaches of tomorrow?" 

So 1 perplex her— 
Questioning, vex her— 
Till the hint of a frown's on her brow. 
"Tell me now, 
Tell me how,^ 
With your singing, 
And your swinging, 
You can chase every cloud from the sky- 
Never grumble nor growl, as do IV" 
Then she said— and her face was demure— 
"Today we can play. I am sure." 



64 



Wise little teacher, 
Dear little preacher, 
^Neath my window now singing again: 
All we men. 
In the ken 
Of our learning. 
And the yearning 
Of our hearts for life's joys, never yet 
With wiser instruction have met, — 
-'Do not dwell with regret on past sorrow- 
Nor fear the heartaches of tomorrow 
When the place and the day 
Bid you play." 



Vacation Daps, 



On the cloudless days when the sun shines bright 
And the earth is bathed in a flood of light, 
Then the meadows call— and the woods call too- 
"Leave your work and eome! Come to us! O. dol 

On the stormy days when the skies are gray 
From my home afar I no longer stray, 
But I rest and muse and my fancy free 
Brings the joys of meadows and woods to me. 

1 love each gift the seasons bring: 

The winter's storm and cold, 
The freshness of the balmy spring, 

The autumn's red and gold, 
The summer's glow when heat is king 

And growth is manifold; 
With changes fair the year is rife— 

"Variety's the spice of life." 



65 

Postscript. 



As one who lays aside his pen 
Yet turns and tal^es it once again 

And adds a postscript to a letter, 

Expressing thus a wisli forgot 

Or writing once again some thought 

He thinks he can express still better, 

So, tliough I'd written all the rhymes, 
The jingling sounds and solemn chimes, 

Which in my mind had jarred and blended, 
My little book I'd still hold back 
And in a single word I'd pack 

A thousand thoughts e'er all was ended. 

A world above, without, within, 

With all its melody and din. 
Is seeking still complete expression; 

While hope and faith and love are strong, 

And fain would make in some new song 
A full and free and glad confession. 

My little book of life can be 

From all time's limitations free 
And I can write the last word— never! 

Eternity doth onward roll; 

Eternity is in my soul; 
I'll live and learn and love forever! 



(M 



m 19 TiS03 



